A Flash of Fang
by CheerfulChemist
Summary: This is a fic for the upcoming web series Con Man from Alan Tudyk & Nathan Fillion. N'er do well Wray Nerely feels lucky to be desired by two sexy women, but they are not what they seem. The M rating is for language and theme. The characters of Wray Nerely and Jack Moore belong to Alan Tudyk. The Ellas I portray are from my own sick imagination.


A Flash of Fang

Wray Nerely woke up to the chill of cold tile. Slowly he opened his eyes, waiting for his vision to clear. Turning his head brought waves of nausea, but thankfully the porcelain base of the toilet was in his visual range. In fact, it was the only thing in his visual range. "Oh fuck, what happened?" he moaned.

He slowly got to his knees, emptying what remained in his stomach as well as his thighs, knees, and toes, into the comforting receptacle. Stripping off what remained of his clothes, which seemed to have been ripped in very odd places, he stepped shakily into the shower, turning the water on to the pitiful stream that the hotel passed off as full blast.

He stumbled out, wrapping himself in the undersized bath towel and reached for his razor, wondering if his hands were steady enough to operate it without killing himself. He stared at his image in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, his skin pasty, and there were two large painful red marks on the side of his throat. "What the hell" He wracked what was still functioning in his brain trying to remember.

He and Jack Moore had gone to a bar near the convention hall after their late afternoon panel. The experience had started out as pretty normal, as outings with Jack went. As soon as someone realized who Jack was, whispers rippled through the room. A steady stream of women and more than a few men approached to gush over Jack and request autographs and selfies. Jack was accommodating, unless they kept him from drinking his beer. But Jack was always alert for the appearance of a truly hot woman. He didn't care if she kept him from his beer. He was hoping for greater adventures. This night, there were two, Varla and Dorain. They looked almost like twins with butt length black hair, four inch stilettos and black sheaths that left nothing to even Wray's vivid imagination. The sexy sirens claimed to be hard core Speckies, citing arcane details from their favorite episodes. Varla homed in on Jack, but Dorain hung herself all over Wray, claiming to love pilots. Wray couldn't believe his luck when the slinky fans suggested seeking the more intimate atmosphere of a smaller club. Jack demurred, citing an early morning meeting with the director of the hottest super hero franchise, but Varla and Dorain both begged Wray to accompany them. Wray hadn't required much convincing despite Jack vigorously shaking his head at him from behind the women. "Man, he's jealous," Wray thought. "He can't have all the women all the time."

The club was draped in black velvet and blood red satin, the lighting dim. The music played was by a string quartet was unfamiliar to Wray, but it was dark and dreamy. Dorain led the way to the bar and running her fingers down Wray's thigh suggested he order the specialty of the house. It was red and salty with a strange metallic tang. Dorain licked his ear and whispered that it would grow on him. He remembered a gray mist coming over his eyes and then nothing else.

Jack banged on Wray's door. "Alright, I'm coming!" Wray answered, too loud for his own ears. He lurched to the door and pulled it open.

"You okay Buddy? I tried to warn you," Jack declared, barging into the room. He regarded Wray's shadowed eyes and pale skin. "You look like hell and - oh no! They were Ellas and they got you!"

"Ellas," Wray repeated. "Jack, what the hell are you talking about?"

"Members of the Vampirella cult. It started in the seventies when her comic book was hot. They hang out around cons and collect blood from celebrities. The bigger the celebrity the more points they get to move up in the organization. They were probably after me, but you were still worth something. I suspected Varla was one when I saw her incisors. They were huge, probably porcelain veneers. Do you remember anything?"

Wray began to shake his head but stopped as the room started to spin. "I just remember drinking some red stuff. It was pretty awful, and then nothing. They must have drugged me. How did I get back here?"

"They probably went through your pockets, found your hotel key, and brought you back here," Jack surmised. "They don't like to leave their victims in their lairs. Do you remember where it was?"

"No," Wray confessed. "Varla was driving and Dorain kept me pretty well - distracted.

Jack smirked. "I bet! Now listen, get some clothes on. We should get you to a doctor, make sure you haven't picked up an infection or something. Who knows what those Ellas have thrust their teeth into. We don't have much time. We have photo ops for Speckies in a few hours." 

Wray fingered the sore spots on his neck. "What am I going to do about these? They'll look terrible in a photo."

Jack waved off the problem. "We'll get you one of those long scarves Tom Baker wore. The fans will think you're a Whovian."

"I am a Whovian," Wray reminded him, "but I like the eleventh doctor."

Jack sighed. "Yeah, I remember your thing with fezzes. For today you'll just have to go with number four. C'mon, get moving.

Wray peeked through the curtains at the line stretching through the hall of the convention center and pulled at his scarf. "I'm sweating my ass off, Jack. I don't know if I can get through this."

"You'll forget about it when you feel all the love out there," Jack encouraged. "Those wonderful people will remember their four seconds with us for the rest their lives, so make it good for them."

Wray's misery retreated as he thoroughly enjoyed the adoration in Speckie eyes. A willowy woman approached the backdrop, dressed as an Arelen courtesan. "I just love the way you steer your ship," she purred, offering him her card. "You must have a great sense of direction." The warmth he felt when she put an arm around his waist for the picture had nothing to do with his scarf. He noted the sexy name, Bambra, and tucked the card in his pocket. "Hope I'll see you again," the courtesan smiled.

Wray was about to assure her that she would when he caught the flash of pointy white in her smile. "Um yeah. Right. I have your card. Bye now. People are waiting." Wray looked after her in wrenching disappointment. "Just my crappy luck! Another bloodsucker." He pulled out her card, tore it in frustration, and threw it angrily in the nearby trash.

Bambra wandered back to her girlfriends waiting for her in the snack bar. "So how did it go?" one of them asked eagerly. "Did Wray like you?"

Bambra shook her head. "I really thought he did. Then all of a sudden he pulled back. I don't know what happened. Ow!" she exclaimed pulling plastic teeth out of her mouth after they perforated her lip. Damn! I hate these things. I don't know how vamp chicks stand them. I just wore them to honor his blood sucking a tick in the Festoon Movies. He was the only thing worth watching. I guess I should have told him. Oh well," she sighed regretfully, "maybe next year."


End file.
